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“And yet you continue being the newest person here. You’re making this difficult for me.”

“I’ll try to fix the seniority structure before lunch.”

“Appreciated.”

Carter grins, and I keep walking rather than give him the satisfaction of seeing me smile. It does not work particularly well because he falls into step beside me anyway.

“How’s the glamorous world of luxury real estate treating you this morning?” he asks.

“So far, no one has cried, threatened litigation, or demanded I find them a six-bedroom penthouse with a private elevator for the price of a condo in the suburbs.”

He considers that. “Slow morning.”

“Tragically.”

We reach the main work area, where brokers occupy a mixture of private offices and open desks depending on seniority, title, and how convincingly they negotiated when they were hired. Mine is one of the desks closer to the windows, which I consider a win even if I had absolutely nothing to do with choosing it.

A woman sitting two desks down looks up from her monitor as I approach. “Please tell me that’s coffee for me.”

I lift my cup. “You didn’t text me.”

“I shouldn’t have to. Friendship should involve instinct.”

“Leah, we have known each other for six weeks.”

“And yet I feel we’ve built something meaningful.”

Leah Moreno is one of the few people here who decided almost immediately that my being new made me interesting rather than just inconvenient. She has been with Meridian for four years, knows practically everyone worth knowing in the Chicago luxury market, and somehow manages to maintain the kind of client relationships that involve birthday gifts, handwritten notes, and people calling her before they even decide whether they want to sell.

Carter points at her. “I’ve told her before that her expectations of friendship were unreasonable.”

Leah looks at him. “You once called me from a showing because you forgot the difference between Carrara and Calacatta marble.”

“I knew the difference. I just wanted confirmation.”

“You absolutely did not. You sent me pictures.”

“I was being thorough.”

I set my bag beside my desk and slide into my chair while they keep arguing. This, more than anything else, has made being the newest broker here tolerable. Meridian is competitive because every brokerage at this level is competitive, and people notice commissions, listings, clients, and who brought in what.

No one gets confused about why we are all here. But Carter and Leah have both managed to make room for me without treating me as though I need someone holding my hand through every conversation.

I appreciate that more than I tell them.

I wake my computer and take a sip of coffee while scanning the notes I left for myself yesterday afternoon. My client list is still more aspiration than list, which is the particular disadvantage of joining a firm where half the brokers have spent a decade building relationships with people who own multiple homes. I came in without that history.

What I have is a license, ambition, a wardrobe good enough to get me through the doors I need to enter, and absolutely no intention of spending the next five years waiting politely for someone to decide I deserve better opportunities.

There are worse places to start.

Leah rolls her chair closer and lowers her voice. “Did you hear about Turner?”

I glance at her. “Which Turner?”

“The Lincoln Park listing.”

“That fell apart?”